


Victimized

by LadyCharity



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF!Loki, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Loki is unamused, Protective!Everyone, Protective!Odin, Protective!Thor, and also frustrated, in which Loki is quite clever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/pseuds/LadyCharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evidently, Odin was not the only one who, upon seeing Loki, thought him so helplessly adorable that he kidnapped him for his own safety. </p><p>In which Loki is the most kidnapped person in all of the Nine Realms by well-meaning bystanders who genuinely think Loki is in constant need of protection. The House of Odin is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victimized

**Author's Note:**

> In response to this funny little prompt from livejournal: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/11219.html?thread=24534483#t24534483
> 
> Unamused Loki is amusing. I had a lot of fun writing this. After midnight, too.

Thinking about it now, Odin should have thought this out a little better.

True, the baby  _was_ left in a precariously questionable place to leave any chlid in the middle of a battle, and true, the baby  _did_ seem altogether miserable and in need, but surely the Frost Giants wouldn't carelessly toss aside a child in the midst of a war. 

As Odin cradled the young baby in his arms, the Jotun blue faded under the visage, Odin could only just now think of a plethora of different reasons why the Frost Giant runt was left in the ice temple that didn't involve abandonment or sacrifice.

Perhaps Laufey thought the temple to be the safest place on Jotunheim and meant to retrieve the baby later.

Perhaps the child had a caretaker that left for the most convenient span of the five minutes Odin had entered to tend to other caretaking duties.

Perhaps the ice temple for Frost Giants also served as a nursery for royal children. 

Alas, Odin did not know, and he certainly did not consider these possibilities when he looked upon the baby Frost Giant and promptly whisked it away from the icy realm. 

In his defense, Odin thought as the baby slept against his chest, the baby was crying up a storm, and if any child was so upset as to wail like that, then surely it wasn't in the most optimal situation. How would the Norns expect Odin to just  _leave_  the poor child after taking away the Casket of Ancient Winters when hewept so determinedly in his snowy corner? Frost Giants could not freeze his heart cold enough to do such a thing. Especially when said child was so sweet with his wide-eyed green gaze and chubby fists tugging at the ends of Odin's hair. 

However, as he stood before the door to Frigga's bedchambers, Odin hesitated. He had, in the most technical sense, kidnapped a child from the opposing nation. The parents could be searching endlessly in the ruins for their son, seeking nothing more but to comfort and nurse their babe. How exactly was Odin supposed to explain himself to Frigga when he returned with a mysterious baby in his arms and the half-baked notion that  _maybe_ the baby was abandoned and left to die even though in all practicality the insides of a respected temple that housed Jotunheim's Casket was by far the least effective place for a baby's sweet and speedy death. 

Nevertheless, the child was now in his arms in Asgard, and not Jotunheim, so Odin braced his shoulders, took in a breath, and stepped into Frigga's bedchambers. 

And before Odin could explain himself, before he could give his reasoning for essentially kidnapping a Frost Giant baby, Frigga swept little Loki into her arms and exclaimed, "You poor thing, you lovely child!" 

Yes, Odin thought feverishly, nodding at Loki's toothless smile and round cheeks and those innocent,  _endearing_ green eyes and dear goodness he did  _not_ inherit those from Laufey if anything. Yes, of course the child was in desperate need and couldn't stay in Jotunheim. Odin was doing the right thing for Loki, taking him under his wing and claiming him as a son of Asgard. How could he possibly resist not protecting the little child from even the cruelest snowflake? 

Thus, Loki Odinson was born unto Asgard, and became perhaps the most troublesome prince that Odin could ever ask for. 

Odin should have expected it.

 

 

* * *

The first time Loki was whisked away for 'his own good,' it was undoubtedly Thor's fault.

For an overprotective older brother, Thor could sometimes be the clumsiest of children, leaving his little brother out in the open where anyone could (and did) snatch Loki under all their noses. Thor was at a laughably young age, who still needed to stand on his father's shoulders to reach an apple of Idunn, but Loki was even younger, a mere toddler who would sooner blubber incoherently before speaking, and thus was the perfect target for Thor's games.

"I am the greatest warrior in all the lands!" Thor said, lifting a wooden sword in the air in emphasis. Young Sif in her long dress eyed his toy enviously. "I am brave and noble and the bards make music to my name."

"Such talk!" said Sif. "What have you done to win such favor?"

"Why, I'm a warrior," said Thor, lowering his sword. "Why would I not?"

"You've never been in battle," said Sif. "You've never saved anyone's life yet. Now, what will the bards sing about you? ' _Oh, mighty Thor, how courageous is he! Learning his letters is his greatest deed_!'"

"Have care of how you speak," said Thor, his cheeks reddening. "I've done much more than learn my lessons. I've—I'll—I will save a helpless victim from impending doom. Ha!" Thor stabbed an imaginary foe with his sword. "And they will shower me with thanks and praise, and I will have saved their lives."

"And who will that poor person be?" said Sif. When Thor turned expectantly to her, she scowled. "I will not be a damsel in distress for your sake. I ought to be the one saving people as well!" 

"Then who will I rescue if not you?" said Thor. "Fandral will not do it for me. Freyja will only laugh." 

At that moment, little Loki, who was a little ways off in the flowerbeds, gave a squeaky shriek. Immediately Thor dropped his sword and rushed to his baby brother's side, holding his hand gently.

"What is it, little brother?" said Thor. "Is something amiss? Oh!" 

Thor laughed when he saw what Loki had become so agitated from. He plucked a snail from Loki's bare feet and placed it upon his palm, holding it up to Loki's eye level. Loki clung desperately to Thor, his green eyes wide with curiosity and fear.

"See, Loki? It is only a snail, and nothing more. Look, they have no teeth to bite, and no voice to bark." 

He moved Loki's hand to touch the snail's shell. Loki jolted at first contact, but soon gave a wide, pearly smile at the feeling of the snail's smooth shell and soft body under his fingers. 

"Silly boy! To think you were afraid of something as slight as a snail,” said Thor, but he ruffled Loki’s black hair and kissed his crown.

“That’s it!” said Sif as she rushed forward.

“What is?” said Thor.

“Loki would not object to you rescuing him from danger,” said Sif. “Let him be your damsel in distress.”

“I will not have him harmed for the sake of my honor,” said Thor, the snail slipping from between his fingers.

“He will be safe, only kidnapped,” said Sif. “I shall hide him, and you will have to seek him out from the dastardly Frost Giant rogues that have claimed him.”

“The bards will not stop singing throughout the night!” said Thor, his eyes shining at the prospect. “Go, then—hide Loki, but as safely as possible so that he will not wander off and hurt himself, and then we can set off on the adventure together.”

Sif gently coaxed Loki into her arms and carried him off. The minute age difference between them did not give Sif a very advantageous height or strength difference, and she could only carry him as far as the edge of Frigga’s garden beyond the castle walls. But she wanted to give Loki a proper prison (would it not impugn his honor if he was trapped in something as trivial as a fairy ring, after all?) and constructed an elaborate ring of stinging nettle for Loki to be safely settled in. She ran back to Thor immediately, but not without giving Loki a toad to play with to distract him enough to not touch the nettle.

Unfortunately, it happened just so precisely that the moment Sif ran off to rejoin Thor and commence their adventure, the newest guard of the castle was making his rounds upon the castle wall. He was a spritely young fellow, if not overly enthusiastic at times, and such a characteristic made no exception when he so conveniently looked down from his post and saw an irresistibly adorable and helpless baby seemingly trapped in a thorny bush crying for help (because apparently, Loki’s squeals of amusement when the toad jumped onto his face was mistaken for sobs of fear).

Pity and a sense of duty as a decent person seized this guard’s heart and immediately he dropped his weapons and helmet. This child was in pain! This child was in need! And the Norns be damned if he let such a delicate child go without help.

The guard scaled the wall until he landed with soft feet into Frigga’s garden, praying that the queen would not find offense. Surely she would not if she had learned that a cruel-hearted villain had used her grounds to keep this tortured soul.

The moment Loki heard the guard step on a crinkled leaf, he looked up and saw the stranger coming close. In a fit of fear and confusion that this newcomer was in fact neither Sif nor Thor, he began to wail, fat tears spilling from his eyes and down his pale cheeks. The guard’s heart ached with compassion for this obviously tormented child and he rushed forward, lifting Loki from the nettle with such gusto that Loki could have flown right out of his arms if he wasn’t careful.

“Hush, child,” said the guard. “You are safe now, and far from any harm.”

This only prompted Loki to cry harder. The guard rubbed Loki’s back and made soothing hushes in his ear. He swore vengeance upon the cruel and wanton villain who would do such a thing to a precious child as this.

Abandoning his post, the guard took the child through town, seeking for his proper parents. The townspeople, not truly knowing how either of the young princes looked like, could provide no answers for the desperate guard, who began to worry that the child was an orphan, abandoned and then taken advantage of by the city criminals. By the time the guard decided that the king and queen would have more wisdom to this situation, six hours had passed and the guard began his trek back to the castle.

Unbeknownst to him, his fellow soldiers were swarming all over town in search for the lost prince, while Thor and Sif were crying hysterically in Frigga’s arms.

The guard entered the somewhat emptier castle, Loki slumbering in his arms after nearly four hours of constant crying and confusion. Strange, he thought, how his fellow guards seemed to be out of sight, and how the servants were so agitated they did not give him so much as a glance as he passed them. Unfazed, the guard entered the enormous throne room, where the king and queen and the two other children resided. Frigga’s face was wet with anxious tears and Odin’s face was gray and drawn.

The guard didn’t really question the reason for their sorrow. Yes, yes, he thought. It was a good day to mourn, for little children were left to their pain on this day. The Norns had it all planned.

“Your royal highnesses,” said the guard.

Frigga and Odin, having not noticed the guard earlier, looked up immediately. The moment they saw Loki sleeping in his arms, their jaws dropped simultaneously. The guard thought nothing of it.

“I have found this young child abandoned and in pain in your very garden, obviously left to suffer by a malevolent felon,” said the guard. “I humbly request that you scour the city for such a perpetrator and seek for this child’s proper guardians, for none deserve to be kidnapped and hurt by any scoundrel, and none deserve to lose their son to the mechanisms of cruel society!”

Odin and Frigga were gaping at the guard for an awfully long time, weren’t they?

In the end, the guard was promoted to guard of the citadel, and Thor and Sif received no dinner that night.

* * *

 

If Loki had any say in it, he was _not_ lost.

True, he rarely ever wandered through town, and true, he did not exactly recognize that particular apple vendor, or this particular blacksmith, but he was definitely not lost, because he was almost certain that he had gotten lost in this specific street before and managed to emerge victoriously.

That didn’t change the fact that he had absolutely no idea whether to take the road on the right or on the left from this point.

Pointless, he thought, and he berated himself in his mind. He was a child of a sturdy age now, old enough to no longer need a chaperone about the castle (and thus he took it as no longer needing a chaperone ever, anywhere, at all) and all he wanted to do was buy Frigga a pretty pendant from the marketplace for  her approaching birthday. And he wanted to do it in secret—any guard would surely report to his parents where he had gone and thus ruin the surprise, and Thor couldn’t keep secrets to save his life. So Loki could only depend on himself to go through town and buy a present—evidently, he could not depend on himself to return home.

He had passed this apple vendor nearly three times now, hoping that if he just looked hard enough at the fruit maybe they would spark his memory and he’d be able to retrace his steps back to the castle. He couldn’t bring himself to ask—donning only a simple tunic and britches to blend in with the crowd, what busy adult would waste their time aiding a child back home?

The apple vendor was starting to notice Loki coming and going frequently, a frown upon his bearded face? Even the townspeople around him watched him cautiously, almost sympathetically, but for what reason Loki did not know. He wheedled past the large crowds, coming up to roughly only their waists, so small that he could squeeze past the spaces with ease.

But his patience was tested, and so was his pride, and he was reduced to staring at the apple vendor, mustering the courage and humility to ask for directions. He must have stared for a good ten minutes beyond those towers of red and green apples, before he finally took a step forward to ask.

However, the moment he moved, a hand fell upon his shoulder and he jumped, swallowing down a squeak of surprise. He spun around, finding himself face to face with that of an older woman, a tattered shawl about her head and dirt smudged on her cheeks and nose. Her brown eyes peered questioningly at Loki, and Loki gulped.

“Young child, come with me,” she said, her voice light.

Of all the things Loki could have said, such as “I will not, thank you” or “Guards!” he ended up saying absolutely nothing, out of shock and perplexity. Instead, he obliged, following the old woman away from the crowd.

In any other situation, that would have been a terrible idea. The prince of Asgard, following questionable strangers into shadier spots of the city? But Loki inexplicably brought the best out of people, even if he was absolutely clueless as to how and why?

She brought him to a decrepit hovel on the edges of town that even the pigs of the royal stables would have turned their snouts up to and flounced away. Loki was too baffled to ask what in the Nine Realms was going on as she took him gently inside, opening the doors and windows wide to let in meager sunlight into the shadowy and small space. Loki vaguely wondered if she was secretly an enchantress that was testing him for a journey, much like in the fairy tales Frigga told him and Thor before bed.

But instead of giving Loki a clue to the next step of the journey he did not know he was partaking, or locking him in a cage and feeding him to fatten him up for feasting, the woman drew a patched blanket from what Loki guessed was her bed and draped it over his shoulders. It was rough even through his silk tunics and smelled of musty hay, and he was far too frozen with bewilderment to throw it off.

“You poor, homeless child,” said the woman. She reached upon her rickety shelves on the wall and broke a hefty piece of stale bread, handing it to Loki. “You must be starving.”

But had he not just eaten midday meal an hour ago?

“Poor street urchins all over the city are so tempted to steal from the marketplace,” said the woman with a sigh, sitting him down on a wobbly chair. She smoothed his hair affectionately as if he were a doll. “But then the vendors and the guards take it as the most serious offense and punish them, bless their souls. You mustn’t let that happen to you, dear boy. I shall take care of you.”

She stared expectantly at Loki, and for once Loki had absolutely no idea what to say. He looked down at the vomit-colored bread in his hands and realized that she was waiting for him to eat.

“I…beg your pardon?” said Loki.

“My sister’s child once tried to steal a loaf of bread,” said the old woman. “What an offense that was to the baker! They threw my sister’s son into the prison for an awfully long time, and it broke my sister’s heart.”

Yes, yes, but what did that have to do with _him_?

“I think there must be a mistake,” said Loki, pushing the bread back into her hands. He could see liver spots dotting her skin like a plague. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, don’t be prideful, poor child,” said the old woman. “I see how starved you are. Look how thin you are! Take my helping hand and eat—the streets of Asgard can be unmerciful and harsh, and we all need the help we can get.”

“Now, you ought not to say that,” said Loki with a scowl. What would Odin say if he heard his city be slandered so? “Asgard is a fine place, and you best not let anyone hear you say such things.”

“The fear of the dungeons has stricken you already!” said the woman, and Loki was beginning to understand that this conversation was going nowhere. “Poverty is a cruel hand dealt upon his, young child. But worry not—you will no longer be alone and helpless, for I shall take good care of you.”

Loki wasn’t exactly sure how stale bread was supposed to take care of him, but tactfully opted not to point that out. Still, what about him told anyone that he was a helpless street urchin in need of food? Obviously the woman did not search his pockets to find Frigga’s richly pendant.

Heimdall eventually spotted Loki and informed Odin of his whereabouts, because an hour later the highest-ranking guards of the castle were at the woman’s door just as the woman was insisting on sewing Loki a gloves (“for winters in the streets are harsh, child!”) made of worn rags.

Loki was not allowed out of anyone’s sight for a good month after that, and even his shiny present to Frigga did not soften the punishment.

* * *

 

All Loki had wanted was a nap.

The castle was tiring, with Thor spinning his weapons in the training grounds as if they were batons, Sif dogging Thor’s footsteps like a page, and the court breathing down Loki’s neck at his every move. Loki could not practice his magic in peace, read in the library in peace, or even scratch his own nose in peace as everyone scrutinized his every move as if he was a piece of art to be criticized.

Surely the whole world could just leave him alone for a fortnight or more! He was a teenager, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself and making his own decisions. He wanted to exercise his seidr? Fine, let him be. He wanted to forego another spar with Thor and escape the risk of getting his head bashed into the dust, fine. It should not be so difficult to grant him these simple pleasures. And yet, apparently it was, for apparently all of Asgard could not leave him alone for a mere minute.

So Loki had snuck off into the woods and fields, far enough from the city that he could dwell in silence in nature’s serenity. The gushing brook was enough to hypnotize him to forget his princely duties, and the sunlight cupped his cheek so tenderly that the moment he had slid off his steed’s back and settled into the thick grass, he dozed off, completely oblivious to the world.

Thus, his shock was nothing less than near horrific when he woke up and found himself—to be put bluntly—nowhere near said brook or woods, but instead in the shade of a white canvas tent with two young faces staring down at him.

If his dagger was at his side, he would have whipped it out immediately. But, as he was completely weaponless, he could only lie whatever it was he was lying on (Was that a cot?) and be torn between jumping onto his feet and running the hell away or staying hopelessly put.

“See, Inga!” said the youngest face—a little girl in the prime of her childhood. “The Valkyrie has woken up! He’s alive!”

“Silly goose, I told you that Valkyries are only women!” said the elder of the two—Inga, who looked perhaps a little younger than Loki. “Surely he is one of the Vanir, lost upon Asgard!”

“What,” Loki said, his voice dry and crackling from sleep, “in the Nine Realms are you two talking about?”

“You speak! Oh, I was afraid you were going to be mute,” said Inga, clapping her hands excitedly. “That simplifies things most surely.”

“Why would you even think I was mute?” said Loki. He tried to sit up, but Inga pressed her hands against his shoulders and shoved him back down onto his back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shush! You are injured and ill, and we must take care of you,” said Inga. “Sissa, go fetch me the bowl of hot water.”

The younger girl rushed off immediately. Loki was left wondering if he was the butt of a very, very odd joke, and was determined to pay Thor back for it later.

“I think you’ve stumbled upon the wrong person,” said Loki. “I am neither injured nor ill, and I am certainly not of Vanaheim.”

“Oh, but you must be,” said Inga. “You look like one, and you even sound like one. Do not be alarmed—you must have been traveling along Yggdrasil and ran into an accident, and fell upon Asgard. My cousin and I found you unconscious in the wilderness and we took you back with our ox to our home to nurse you to health.”

Loki found very many holes in her explanation. Firstly, Loki? Of Vanaheim? True, Frigga had the blood of the Vanir within her, but Loki was of Asgard through and through. And how on earth did two young girls and an _ox_ manage to carry him off without him even waking up?

“I think I know a little better than you whether or not I was lost on Asgard,” said Loki. He tried to sit up again, but Inga shoved him back, this time a little more forcefully. “I am no Vanir. I am—” He nearly declared his true identity as Prince Loki, but he knew fantastical, overly-romantic maidens bewitched by fairy tales when he saw them. Princes were on the list of victims of their enthusiasm just below Vanir. “I am in no need of your assistance.”

“Oh Sissa, he’s lost his memory too!” said Inga, her round face drawn with pity. “He doesn’t remember his home.”

“How awful,” said Sissa with a mournful sniff as she brought along the bowl of hot water. Loki eyed the strips of cloth in Inga’s hands warily; what did farmers know of binding wounds, especially when he was evidently not bleeding?

“Where is my horse?” said Loki. “Surely you saw it and would not have thought I was  a foreigner.”

“We saw none,” said Inga. “And I thought the Vanir could fly. Can’t they fly? Why would you need horses?”

Loki groaned with frustration and let his head fall back.

“Oh, he is in pain! Hurry, Sissa, see if you can find Mother’s roots. We will do something about the pain.”

“No!” said Loki. “I will _not_ be under the care of two girls who can’t tell the difference between sleeping and dying.”

“He’s hysterical,” said Sissa. “He must be very homesick.”

Inga nodded feverishly in agreement.

This had to be one huge joke. Thor surely had charmed two little girls into pulling the wool over Loki’s eyes. There was absolutely no other explanation for this.

“Where are your parents?” said Loki. Surely their mother and father would see reason.

“Still in the fields, working,” said Sissa. “They will be so accommodating to you, as our guest. We will honor you must rightly.”

“I don’t think the honor code for hosting guests counts as heavily when the guest in question is here unwillingly,” said Loki.

“I’m sure that there is good wine and bread to accommodate you,” said Inga. “If we were to treat you most wonderfully, would you grant us a wish?”

“Vanir do not grant wishes on a whim,” said Loki sourly.

“Ah, so he does know the way of the Vanir,” said Sissa. “Truly he is one then.”

Loki closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe in and out to keep from lashing out verbally. An idea formed in his head, one that would surely free himself of this nonsense.

“It is true,” said Loki in the most tragic whisper he could conjure. It must have worked, for both girls’ gasped. “I am of the Vanir, and I am most grievously injured, but I had to pretend I was not in fear that you would betray me.”

“Of course would not!” said Sissa.

“I thank you for your kindness,” said Loki, blearily opening one eye to look upon them. Their eyes were as round and wide as coins. “But I am worn and wounded from the journey, and I am in desperate need of your healing.”

“You need not ask!” said Inga. She dipped the bandages sloppily in the lukewarm water. Loki suppressed a flinch.

“No, I cannot be healed by Asgard’s skills,” said Loki, draping a dramatic hand over his forehead. “I require the magic of the Baoboughton bud.”

“What is the Baoboughton bud?” said Inga.

“It is a rare flower that blooms on the other side of the woods,” said Loki. “I was on my way to retrieve them when my strength failed me. The buds have the hue of the purest silver, but when they bloom shine the deepest of blue. They possess magic that would heal my hurt.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” said Sissa.

“They are very rare,” said Loki. “And need a certain power in order to be plucked from the soil. They need two hands to hold their stem as they are plucked, for they require the magic of—of camaraderie to relinquish their powers.”

“We must fetch it for you, then,” said Inga with a determined nod. “On the other side of the woods, did you say?”

Loki nodded. “They are hard to find, as they are so small, but I need them to live. Hurry—” He feigned a gasp of pain. “I do not know how much longer I will last.”

“Let us go, cousin!” said Sissa, her hands clapped over her little mouth in horror. “Before he suffers any longer.”

“Do not fret, sir,” said Inga, patting Loki on the head. “We will find you this Baoboughton bud and you will be most hastily healed.”

“I give you my uttermost thanks,” said Loki. “I wish you the best of luck.”

The two cousins nodded and set off immediately, rushing out of the tent with the thought that his life depended on it. The moment the tent flap swung behind them, Loki sat up immediately, breathing a sigh of relief. With a snap of his fingers, he cast himself invisible and set himself off on his journey back to the castle, swearing to himself not to breathe a single word of this to Thor or anyone who could hear.

But not without conjuring and leaving two baby flower buds upon the cot he had lay upon, both of them the stunning sheen of silver.

 

* * *

 

There came a point in Loki’s life where he questioned whether he was deserving of any pride at all.

He was not weak, nor was he helpless. In fact, he was powerful—extraordinarily powerful, mastering seidr at a young age and constantly perfecting the art as he grew into adulthood. As much as Asgard would hate to admit it, his sorcery was most convenient and admirable, especially when in battle in Nornheim.

It was Loki who had cast the shadow over the troops to help their escape. It was Loki who felled many enemies with a flick of his magic daggers. It was Loki who perfected their battle strategies and orchestrated the capture of the fort from enemy clutches. He did not ask that the Asgardians shower him with praise as they did to Thor, though he certainly wouldn’t object to it. All he wanted was that all the Nine Realms to finally acknowledge that he was perfectly capable and to _leave him the bloody hell alone._

Apparently, that was all too much to ask.

True, Loki should not have wandered from Asgard’s camp. He wanted a breath of fresh air, after all, and the camp’s stench was that of sweaty metal and smoke. He himself was not particularly injured, though he had his own scrapes and bloody lips, but in his opinion nothing about him screamed ‘PLEASE HELP ME I AM IN DIRE NEED OF SALVATION,’ though evidently others did not read it as such.

He was armed with a sword and nothing more, opting for his simpler armor for his outing. He did not expect to be gone long, only a short walk beyond the grounds, far enough that the fire pit was a mere speck, before returning for duty. It was nighttime, but not so dark that he could not see anything beyond five feet of him. He didn’t expect to have anything to fear, and even if something did come out to attack him, he certainly proved able to defend himself.

Which was why, when he heard a crack of a twig behind him, he did not fear. Instead, he merely gripped tighter on his sword and hold it aloft, taking smooth and calculated steps that allowed him to spin around and parry any blow should he need to.

Another crack followed, and he narrowed his eyes. His other hand drew his powers to enhance his attack.

Thor was not so stupid as to sneak up on him (last time he ever did, he remained in the form of a frog for quite a long time), and none of Asgard would ever dare. It was either a wild animal or an enemy force.

Drawing a deep breath, Loki spun around, lighting the magic in his hands to illuminate his view, sword poised to attack. Before he could rush forward to attack, hands suddenly grabbed him from behind, nearly knocking him off his feet. Loki gave a gasp before trying to twist around and attack his perpetrator, only to realize that whoever held him was not trying to apprehend him in any way—in fact, if he could interpret the situation as accurately as he could—it felt like an…embrace?

“Come, men!” said a loud voice in his ear. “This youth is in need of help, for he is weary and war-torn.”

Loki could only remain still and shell-shocked as the enemy soldiers surrounded him and—instead of pointing their weapons at him as he would expect—kneeled around him with a wineskin of water and salve for his wounds.

“War is cruel, that it takes the youngest and most fragile souls to be torn apart by its wolves,” said the soldier—a captain, if Loki could presume correctly.

Loki let the blade fall from his hands. He, in all honesty, was just about ready to be done with all of this.

“You are worn and wounded—come back to the camp, my son, and rest yourself from the cruel battle against the Asgardians,” said the captain.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” said Loki. “I’m not—”

But he gave up halfway. Tactically, it was far from a wise decision to tell the enemy captain that he was the prince of the kingdom they warred against, but the fact that they evidently confused him as one of their own—and a weak one, at that—was something Loki was not about to sit down and take.

Perhaps if they were taking him to their camp, he could relay the information back to Odin and they would win the battle—if he ever got out of these people’s protective clutches, that was.

Why on _earth_ did Loki wander off on his own?

“Rest your weary head here, young soldier,” said the captain once they entered the camp and settled near the large fire. The other wounded soldiers sat around it, warming their hands and their bandaged wounds. Loki could do nothing else but sit himself down by the fire, memorizing everything about the camp for further use. “Our healer will care for you promptly.”

“I only have scrapes; nothing I cannot handle,” said Loki.

“Even the smallest scrapes could lead to danger to one’s health,” said the captain. “You must rest.”

Now that Loki thought of it, the captain of the enemy had unwittingly taken himself a prisoner of war of Asgard—and Odin’s youngest prince, at that. The pathetic realization of this made Loki question his reputation.

“And what of tomorrow’s plans?” Loki said carefully. “Should I not prepare for that?”

“Our siege on Asgard’s forces will not begin until sunrise,” said the captain. “You will have time to rest before we set off.”

Before sunrise. Surely he would be able to escape soon enough to warn Asgard before then. On the outside, he nodded sagely, pretending to draw himself closer to the fire for its comfort. He was given a pewter mug of ale and he took it with a murmur of grace.

“How many have we lost?” said Loki.

“Two hundred men,” said a nearby soldier. “And our greatest commander. May the Valkyries rest his soul.”

Loki cast his eyes downward in the guise of gentle mourning. What victory for Asgard, that they had managed to cripple the enemy forces!

“Good men indeed,” said Loki through barely parted lips, and he lifted his mug. “A toast to the brave souls who shall reside in Valhalla forevermore.”

“Amen,” said the men all around him, raising their drink and downing it. Loki lifted it to his lips, but kept the ale from entering his mouth.

“And why not a toast of good luck for tomorrow’s siege?” said Loki. “That we will seize victory this coming morn.”

“Aye, I agree,” said one of the soldiers, and the drinks were passed heartily. Loki discreetly spilled his drink into the fire. They drank again, smacking their lips with the taste of their sweet ale.

“I thank our captains that we are well fed and cared for,” said Loki. “That we are provided for so readily.”

“Indeed, our provisions are kept under good care of the admiral,” said one of the soldiers with a hiccup, nodding to the largest tent in the camp. “He provides much for us, the good man.”

“He leads us to good battle, even when our spirits are low,” said another.

“He is brave and honorable,” shouted a third.

“A man worthy of good health and spirits,” said Loki, lifting his cup.

“Let us drink to that!” bellowed the crowd.

And they drank for the health of the admiral, and after that for the good state of their weapons, and after that the good weather that blessed their fields. Loki poked and prodded after each drink, fishing out the truths of their army and their plans, pouring honeyed poison after poison down their throats until they swayed and sang in their spots. By the time the fire died down, all the men snored upon each other, their heavy breaths thick with alcohol. All except Loki, who sat quite prim and straight in the mess of tangled, inebriated limbs, his lips dry of alcohol’s tempting kiss.

Placing his cup gently down, he tip-toed his way out of the sleeping pit, coaxed a horse into his possession, and disappeared into the night.

(He was the honeyguide of war, the tempting siren of battle. And by the next morn, Asgard’s army returned home full of victory)

* * *

 

This time, Loki swore, was the last straw.

True, he wasn’t exactly _trying_ to be a threat to Thor and his fellow Avengers. They had long settled their past desires to kill one another (or, more accurately, Loki’s desire to kill Thor and Thor’s desire to bash some sense into Loki’s head), but Loki had to admit: messing with the Avengers was _fun._

After all, who could say no to turning automobiles to destructive dinosaurs, toppling bridges, and exploding subway systems to watch the Avengers butt heads against one another trying to organize themselves to keep order?

Loki should have paid more attention. But how was he to know that SHIELD decided to add another member to the Avengers, one who didn’t particularly know anything about their long-time enemy and was very willing to rescue anything that did so much as breathe?

It wasn’t a particularly difficult battle the slightest. Thor and the assassins were off on the other side of town, trying to subdue the animated statues that Loki set loose in the city; the Hulk was wrestling the enormous Rockefeller golden man from smashing an entire bus. Last time Loki saw Captain America, he was shoving people into the safety of the underground system from a flock of flying chainsaws. That left Iron Man to battle Loki on the top of the Empire State Building. Iron Man—and apparently, the newest member.

“You done having fun yet, Reindeer Games?” said Tony, sending another blast toward Loki. Loki deflected it easily, letting it fly and knock off the tip of a nearby skyscraper.

“Please, this is merely to pass the time,” said Loki.

“Yeah, because you supervillain types sure need some good hobbies,” said Tony. “I suggest knitting. Or maybe, in your case, magic tricks.”

Loki sent an attack to Tony, who barreled out of the way in midair to avoid it.

“Fury’s getting really tired of us kicking your ass,” said Tony.

“Then let me spice it up for him,” said Loki. He swiped in the air, sending a shot of magic slashing at Tony. It caught him in his torso and he flew back, tumbling in the air. He caught himself just before his suit could lose its momentum and send him falling hundreds of feet in the air.

“Maybe another time!” Tony sent a jet of power from his gloves that shuttled toward Loki. Loki dived out of the way, letting himself fall from the edge of the roof. He plummeted at an alarming speed, readying himself to shape-shift into a bird, or perhaps this time he should teleport somewhere else just for the sake of change—

His thought process was utterly cut off as a figure crashed into him, grabbing onto his torso and shuttling him from his descent.

Now, Loki wouldn’t have been surprised by this if he was on the ground. This Midgardian city was a zoo if anything else and no matter if it was an automobile or a confused pigeon, something was bound to run into you at one point. But Loki was perhaps three hundred meters off the ground, and as far as he could tell _no pedestrian_ was able to tread on his toes as he was falling to the pavement.

He tried to spin around, both shocked and indignant as this—thing—held onto his torso like he was a sack of potatoes. He couldn’t twist around to see who or what was holding onto him, and could only brace himself as the swing finished its arc midair and gravity began to pull him down again, only for something to catch upon the both of them (who the hell was this person?) and swing across the city once again until they crashed safely on the roof of a building.

The air was knocked out of Loki as he landed roughly against the surface, his helmet flying off completely. He tried to pull himself onto all fours, but whoever was holding onto him was keeping him on the ground and Loki couldn’t move.

“Hold on, mister!” said the mystery flying squirrel. “There’s still some danger up ahead!”

What in the name of the Nine Realms was going on?

Loki managed to lift his head to see who exactly was hovering over him protectively. This creature had no face, its skin of a weird criss-cross pattern and of the brightest red and blue hues, with enormous angular eyes and nothing else. A black spider was planted on its chest.

“You motherhugger, what the heck were you doing on the roof of a building in the middle of a battle? Don’t you know what’s going on?” said the teenager.

Loki could only gape speechlessly.

“Some crazy dude is trying to reenact Transformers around here. I have no idea where he gets these ideas, but seriously, I saw some flying lawn mowers somewhere around here and they can actually do a number on you, so you should keep low,” said the accidental hero. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What knocked you off, an animated office chair? A scooter?”

Loki was certain that if his pride wasn’t bruised before, it was getting pummeled now.

“Aw, man, don’t tell me you can’t talk,” said the strangely-clad superhero. “Are you hurt? Nod if you are, shake your head if you aren’t. I’m here to protect the city and its people, and that includes you.”

“Why on earth,” said Loki, “do you think I’m the one that needs _protecting_?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you noticed, mister,” said the superhero. “But you were kind of falling to certain death from on top of the Empire State Building.”

Loki had the urge to punch this spider boy in the face, but now that felt like cheating.

“Peter!” Tony’s voice rang out behind him as the Iron Man flew towards them. His face mask lifted to reveal a very irate Tony. “What did I tell you about touching my stuff?”

“Well, don’t drop your stuff and I won’t have to swoop in and keep them from dying!” said Peter.

“Are you freaking kidding me? You just saved _Loki!_ That’s the guy who’s starting this robot apocalypse in the first place!”

“Wait—what? No way!” said Peter. “You’re telling me the guy who jumped off a building is the guy who’s responsible for this mess? But he was in danger, he was hurt!”

Loki swallowed down the urge to slap himself in the forehead.

“Don’t let those eyes glimmering with tears fool you,” said Tony (Eyes glimmering with _tears_? Since when did this happen?) “He’s a little shit that is causing all this trouble in the first place.”

“Are you for real?” Peter turned to face Loki again, but by the time he noticed, Loki had snapped his fingers and disappeared from the city.

(The next time the Avengers saw Loki, he hung up his villainous moustache and resigned to the fact that he would sooner do more good to them than harm.)

* * *

 

“Hey Fury, next time, can you put us up to a villain that _doesn’t_ go around swooning like a damsel in distress? It’s kind of bamboozling.”

 


End file.
